


In sickness and in health

by darkandstormyslash



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Consent Issues, Explicit Language, Fever, Groping, Illness, M/M, Naked Bathing, Nudity, Sickness, Swearing, gratuitous face-slapping, requested blowjobs, solomons uses a few slurs, taking advantage of a person with an illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 05:57:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13381596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkandstormyslash/pseuds/darkandstormyslash
Summary: Tommy Shelby is ill and Alfie Solomons takes care of him. Or at least Alfie Solomons breaks into his house, gropes him and abducts him. It seems to help.Set somewhere vague in season 3, with spoilers for seasons 1–3.





	In sickness and in health

“You look like shit.” Tommy jerks awake and upright as he hears the voice, giving a rasping desperate breath and almost hyperventilating as Alfie Solomons walks into his bedroom as if he’s got every business being there. “What are you doing here then, anyway? Big house, all those little medicine bottles, daft thing. Open up.” A cigarette pushes its way between his lips and then Alfie is peering at his flushed, sweating face through his eyeglasses. “Yeah, you ain’t well at all, mate.”

“Who let you in?” It comes out as a croak as Tommy’s hands try to reach his gun, the telephone, and a lighter all at the same time and the resulting effort sends a grey speckled mist up over his eyes and makes him dry heave. The doctor says its flu, but Tommy can’t see how, unless it’s the kind of flu that carried Freddie Thorne off. This illness is worse than any sickness he’s had before, it’s a horrible, feverish, hallucinatory mess that’s left him as weak as a kitten.

At the moment, for example, he’s pretty sure he’s hallucinating Alfie Solomons lighting up the cigarette in his mouth and dropping a damp towel on his head.

“Let myself in, your housekeeper wasn’t about to open the door. This isn’t good mate, you’re meant to be meeting those mad Russians tomorrow, aren’t you? Can’t do it in this state, they’ll have you for breakfast. Sit up, go on, I’m not going to murder you, am I?”

“I don’t know.” Tommy gasps, because he genuinely doesn’t. He flinches back slightly as a hand pats at his cheek, and then a finger pulls down at the base of his eye to check the whites. “You might be. My fucking security should be better than this, where the hell is everyone?”

Alfie nods, pats his cheek again, and then tugs all the blankets off him, yanking him up by the upper arm and ignoring his question entirely. “Get in the bath.”

“W-what? Get off…” he shoves weakly, but he’s in no state to take on the sheer bulk of Solomons and doesn’t have much choice except to let himself be led awkwardly to the warm bath next door and lowered in, pyjamas and all. Solomons must have had it filled, when and how he doesn’t know, and the room spins again as he’s lowered into it, and a strange whiskery feeling rubs up against his cheek.

“Did – did you just fucking kiss me?”

“You ain’t going to be this incapacitated for long, Tommy-boy, I’ve got to take my chances where I can.” Alfie rolls his sleeves up and empties a bottle of something into the bath and Tommy starts giggling, unable to stop, as Alfie gently flannels water over his hair, trying to keep the cigarette in his mouth dry. “Alright stop that, stop laughing now, you’re like a fucking child.” Tommy lets his giggles subside but he can’t stop the stupid grin on his face. The whole situation is too absurd.

Alfie tugs his clothes off under the water, and Tommy lays back, letting his shivering muscles loosen and relax. There’s a menthol smell raising from the fumes of the bath and it’s clearing his head a little. “Don’t even think about grabbing my arse.”

“Can’t make any promises there, I’m afraid.”

“Jesus…” The slap he gets for that one almost knocks the cigarette out of his mouth, but already Tommy can feel his brain kicking sluggishly into gear. “What did you put in the bath?”

“A little something of mine, and a bit of something from your Uncle Charlie that I wouldn’t trust at all if I were you.”

“Good old Uncle Charlie.” Tommy mumbles, feeling Alfie’s hands lift his body gently, the flannel soothing and wiping away the fever as it goes. Alfie’s hands are wandering, but he’s not sure he minds. It’s just a brief squeeze there, a rub along his hip, as if he’s a particularly pretty piece of goods Alfie is appraising. Maybe he is. A thumb rubs a little harder, between the curves of his arse and his eyes flicker open, staring straight into Alfie’s.

No words are said, but Tommy keeps his stare strong and eventually Alfie’s hand moves away and calloused fingers tangle into his hair, giving it a hard tug. “Alright then, enough skiving from you, up you get, we’re taking you down to your meeting now. Taking you by barge where all your strange magic can stick a rod up you and get you talking, yeah?”

“Alfie…” Tommy says in a warning voice, because he’s not about to let Solomons get away with breaking into his house and groping him, but clearly the moment to push his authority has passed and Alfie just hauls him up, damp and naked. Despite his protests he’s wrapped up in a towel and deposited onto the bed, all flailing wet limbs and ragged breath.

His legs are tangled, and by the time he’s finished abstracting himself from the towel he’s mostly dry and Alfie wraps him up in a silk dressing-gown from his closet, then puts an arm around him to stagger him out of the room and down the stairs. Tommy’s strength is gone by the second staircase, taking enough of his pride with it to let him rest himself against the body holding him up. Alfie mumbles something pleased, and pats his waist.

“I will –“ Tommy mumbles, his feet tripping over each other as he staggers across the hall, “I will have my revenge for all this, once I’m better.”

“Course you will.” Alfie says indulgently, and pats his arse.

Johnny Dogs is waiting by the door with a grin and a motorcar. Tommy leans against Alfie in exhaustion and murmurs, “Why did you drag Johnny into this?”

“Couldn’t use your brothers, could I? They’d kill me soon as look at me. Nah, had to get your pet gypsies, get in, go on, get your legs working, oh for-“ Alfie sighs and hauls Tommy into the car, giving an exasperated gesture at Johnny, “Look at him. He’s going to kill himself one of these days, working this hard, and he’ll have to, won’t he, because nobody else seems to be able to do it. Fucking immortal you are, Tommy Shelby.”

Alfie’s in the car next to him, and Tommy lets his shivering body fall onto Alfie’s as the automobile frame rattles and bounces down the path. Alfie’s hand is in his hair, but while Tommy’s body is weak his mind is already racing. How to take this, how to use this, how to get everything he can from where he is now: Alfie’s hands, his illness, Johnny’s loyalty. He has it all, a little collection of the things he needs in the palm of his hand, he just needs to work out how to line them all up in a way that will lead to him walking into a meeting with the Russians tomorrow evening and then walking out again with a fist full of diamonds and a dead priest.

“Are you stroking my hair?” He murmurs.

Alfie gives a sniff, “You ain’t complaining.”

Tommy smiles into Alfie’s jacket, “That’s because I have a temperature of forty degrees, Mister Solomons.”

There’s the sound of a throat clearing from next to him, and then Alfie says, “Tommy can I ask you something more personal, seeing as we’re here?” Tommy doesn’t answer, and so Alfie continues, “If I was to ask you, right here and now in this car in your nice silk dressing gown, to suck on my cock, would you do it?”

Tommy can hear his heart. He can hear Alfie’s heart, and Grace’s gasps, and the breathless sound Tatiana makes when she cums.

“If you put anything in my mouth while I’m unable to stop you, I’ll have Arthur cut away all the rest of it that your circumcision missed.” Tommy answers, his voice quiet.

“That is not what I asked, Mister Shelby, I asked if you’d do it. If I offered you every diamond in that Russian vault, would you do it?”

Tommy feels like he’s floating, like he’s dying, like his life has suddenly spun away from the center and is bouncing around in a strange new darkness. “You don’t have any diamonds.”

Alfie’s hand grips hard in his hair, “You still ain’t answering the question.”

Maybe it’s a few minutes later, or maybe they spend a few hours like that, together in the back of the car in a tight-hot atmosphere where they’ve both said too much and they’ve both not said enough. However much time it is, it passes; the car shudders to a halt, and Johnny Dogs yanks the door open, grabbing Tommy’s arm as he tumbles out. “God Tommy, you’re hotter than ever. You get onto the barge now, Curly’ll take care of you. No need for those daft pills anymore, eh? Whiskey and charcoal, that’s what you need.”

Alfie comes around the car to help hold him up, and Tommy grips hard at his shirt. “Come with me.”

“You what?”

“In the barge, to the meeting, come with me.” Tommy’s eyes are fever bright and he’s not sure entirely what he’s hoping Alfie will say. There are thoughts and plans unraveling in the back of his head, most of them involve Alfie, some involve a barge, plenty involve diamonds. He wants, suddenly to pick up the gun Alfie is holding and lift it to his own head, just to see if Alfie will pull the trigger; to lock himself in a barge with Alfie Solomons and see if they can both make it to London sane and unravished. “I want you there. Come with me.”

Alfie gives a snort, dropping his body onto Johnny’s and wrinkling his nose, “Nah, piss off. I’m not spending three days in a smelly gypsy boat watching you cough your lungs out. You get yourself to London, Tommy, make that deal and make it well or I will perform unto you all the sins of Gomorrah, one after the other, understand?”

“Fuck you.” Tommy mutters at the floor, and Alfie steps forward and pats his cheek again.

“Well I did ask, didn’t I? Get on the boat, you daft cunt, do that magic which gets your body working again.”

Tommy nods, and the fingers brush against his cheek briefly, before Curly is stepping off out of the barge to help him on, charcoal on his fingers and the reassuring scent of horses and smoke. Tommy staggers into the barge, wondering just how much of that strange encounter he can pretend was a hallucination, and whether, really, he wants to pretend that any of it was.

**Author's Note:**

> Not entirely in-character for Johnny Dogs (who probably would've refused to work with Alfie without checking with Tommy first), but he's acting all in Tommy's best interests. I maybe should've used someone less connected to Tommy for the driving, but I like Johnny Dogs and wanted to write him.


End file.
